


Burrow

by Royce_Clayton



Series: Sojourn [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Coping Mechanisms, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hearing Voices, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Spoilers, Underage - Freeform, mild hallucinations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royce_Clayton/pseuds/Royce_Clayton
Summary: After the heat in "Matroyshka" Mishima, Akira, and Iwai find themselves inexorably drawn together. Akira can't help falling for Mishima. Mishima is intrigued by Iwai and wants to learn more. And Iwai refuses to let any further harm come to either of them. How, though, do you fit three very different people into one relationship that will last?The continuation of these three getting together.





	1. Finding The Right Spot

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to go ahead and post this now. I've been sitting on this much for a while now, hoping that I'd be able to get back into it and pump it all out in one shot. But with life, and moving, it's just not feasible. I'm hoping that any and all feedback for this chapter will give me the juice I need to keep going. I have it all laid out in my head, why can't my hands just be faucets?? Pour out the words!!!
> 
> I hope you like it! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! It means the world!

Mishima stood at the mouth of an alleyway downtown, staring intensely into the gloom at the flicker of neon bouncing off the walls from around the corner. He was hesitating. He’d  _ been _ hesitating for almost an hour now. It wasn’t that he was afraid, exactly.

He  _ wanted _ to go and see Iwai. He wanted to thank him, again, now that his heat had passed and he was, more or less, back to normal. He wanted…

He wanted to know more about the strange alpha.

The problem was, Mishima was socially awkward. There were a million reasons why, but it all added up to him, in his own eyes, being an abject failure at people-ing. And Iwai was an adult, a businessman, who wouldn’t have time to sit and listen to the teen stammer and mumble his way through questions like some kind of interview.

The teen sighed. 

He thought he was getting better.

At least at school he had Akira now. And, inevitably, with Akira came the others. Sakamoto and Takamaki had talked to him. Sure, it only happened when Akira was there too, but… it was something, right?

It had to be.

He’d hurt them all so much. He hadn’t even bothered explaining that he was just a tool for that bastard’s schemes, it sounded like nothing but an excuse even in his own head. But, while they weren’t overly warm, they did include him now. That thought made him smile a bit, and with that little bit of warmth carrying him, he stepped into the alleyway.

Mishima made his way down and around the corner, looking at the bright sign and then the windows full of merch. Everything was camouflage colored, and military uniforms hung beside caps and ammo boxes. The teen sighed. No sense stopping now. He pulled open the door and stepped inside before he could convince himself to turn tail and run.

He was equal parts thankful and sad to see that Akira wasn’t inside. Mishima felt like he needed that bridge, the weird degrees of separation placing him and Iwai just out of reach. But he wanted to  _ be _ that bridge too. He was tired of being afraid all the time; it was exhausting and had probably already taken years off his life. Yes, he had reasons to scream and cower every time an older alpha male came within ten feet of him, but that was no way to live. Akira had proven it was possible to move past it.

So Mishima would follow his lead.

Without sleeping with him, obviously. Mishima was curious, not a homewrecker.

It took him a moment to realize that the store was empty, without even Iwai to be found. He frowned and stepped in further, eyes drawn to the bright LED display case counters that housed....stuff. There were boxes and bottles of things he knew nothing about. Cleaning kits, some claimed to be. He could guess what they cleaned, if the posters and signage of weaponry all over the place were any indication.

Akira and the others had sworn that Iwai would only sell them models, nothing actually lethal. What Mishima had gotten from that was that Iwai probably had a lot of illegal business going on behind closed doors. A little zing of thrill zipped through him at the thought, his need to rebel, to act out, to live dangerously, excited at the prospect. Mishima moved to the other case and leaned down, staring in awe at the arrangement of knives glinting in the light.

He practically had his face pressed to the glass, taking in every sleek curve, sharp tip, and shining handle. So absorbed he didn’t hear the heavy booted feet of the owner as he entered the room from the back.

If Iwai had been asked, he’d have honestly said he never expected to see the kid again. While it became apparent that Yuuki was fond of Akira, and at least passingly tolerant of Iwai, the kid was still skittish and alpha-phobic. So while Iwai had hoped for the best for him, he figured Yuuki was better off with Akira and friends his own age. It wasn’t without loss that Iwai watched the little omega walk out the door into the rest of his life, but the alpha had stowed that feeling in a box in his head for later ( _ read: never _ ) consumption. 

So what the hell was he doing making out with Iwai’s countertop?

“Hey kid,” the alpha rumbled, walking over and tilting his head a bit, allowing his surprise to show a little.

Mishima’s head shot up so fast it made  _ Iwai _ ’s neck hurt, eyes wide and mouth open a bit. He goldfished for a moment before blushing bright red, as though caught doing something naughty, and looked down out of deference, rather than interest in the pocket knives.

After a moment of painful silence, Mishima finally found words. “Uhm...hi.”

Iwai chuckled a little and grabbed his chair, pulling it over and sinking down into it. “What brings you all the way out here?”

The kid’s eyes shifted nervously, as though the answer was in front of him under glass rather than in his head. Iwai had all the time in the world, so he just leaned back and flicked his lollipop around.

“They’re...really pretty,” Yuuki finally managed, eyes still on the case. “I mean cool. Cool looking? Ah...uhm realistic?”

Iwai tossed him a life preserver, refusing to let the kid drown himself in semantics. “I’ll take all of em, thanks. Helluva lot better than I used to be.”

“You...made them?” Mishima wanted to smack himself.  _ Of course he made them _ !

The gunsmith nodded his head, reaching out and sliding the back panel of the case open. He pulled the display box out and set them on the counter, so that Yuuki could get a closer look. Something told him this was the closest the teen had ever been to something sharp outside of his mother’s kitchen.

Mishima held out a slightly shaking hand, then looked at Iwai for permission, before taking up one of the folded blades. He turned it over in his hand, staring in a bit of quiet awe. It felt good, slim and light but solid. He tilted his head a bit and turned it again, smiling when he successfully found the groove etched into the metal that allowed him to pull the actual blade out. Now, though, he was holding something dangerous. That same thrill crashed into his nervousness and made his stomach churn.

“Uhm. So.” Yuuki hated what he was hearing himself say. He sounded like an idiot, it was just a knife for goodness sakes.  _ Get it together Mishima! _

Iwai watched with fascination as every thought broadcasted like a ball game over the kid’s face. Expressive wasn’t even the half of it. He’d been able to read him before, but Heats didn’t lend themselves to much subtlety. Finding out that this was Yuuki, as he always was, was a pleasant surprise. Too bad the show was watching the kid try to beat himself to death with his own mind.

“It ain’t a model, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Iwai caught Mishima’s hand before the teen could drop the knife like he’d been bitten, preventing him from loosing the blade, small though it may be, and potentially cracking the glass case.

The teen made a sharp sound of discomfort, at the weapon still in his hand, and at the hand that held it there. He looked up into Iwai’s face, terror blatant. “Please let me go.”

Iwai sighed and eased his grip, plucking the knife from the kid’s hand before he hurt himself with it in his haste. Like he’d been doing. He flicked it shut with a small snap that rang like gunfire between them, and took his other hand back. “Had a hunch you’d drop it like a hot rock.”

Mishima’s face heated, and he tucked his hands away in his pants pockets, scuffing a shoe against the floor. “They told me you sold models.”

_ They _ being the brat and his friends no doubt. “I do.” Iwai shrugged and set the knife back onto the soft fabric of the display box. “Models of shit that’s not even close to legal. Cosplay weapons, airsoft guns, that kinda stuff. These are perfectly legal. Too short to be looked at twice. They’re more about the decoration, the handle and the look of the thing when you whip it out.”

“It’s  _ real _ .”

“It’s live metal,” Iwai huffed when Mishima’s face squinted in confusion. “Means it’ll take an edge.” He lifted the blade again and flicked it back open with a single deft movement, holding it out between them and running his thumb along the edge. “It’s edged, yeah, but not sharp.”

The teen stared down at Iwai’s hand, sparing a glance for the not-a-knife but almost immediately focusing on the work-rough skin, and the myriad of little scars slightly visible in the weird cast off LED display lighting. He found himself wanting to ask.  His hand lifted from his pocket to reach out and brush over a long line that ran along every one of Iwai’s knuckles. 

He lifted his gaze and found Iwai’s eyes meeting his own. Mishima felt his face heat and he looked back down, missing the quirk of Iwai’s lips into a small smile, and took his hand back.

Slowly, this time.

“They’re dangerous.”

Iwai shrugged a bit. “Most anythin’ worth doin’ is.” He closed the blade and set it back again.

He lifted the box, intending to put it back, but Mishima looked up at him and held his hand out. 

“Uhm!” The boy wilted immediately, feeling just how stupid his knee-jerk thought had been like a thousand watt heat ray to the skull.

The gunsmith raised an eyebrow, waiting. He’d mastered this kind of patience with Kaoru. There was something sitting in the kid’s head, and it would find its way out one way or another. Best to just wait it out.

Sure enough, after only a moment, Mishima let himself speak. “I should go.”

A distinct feeling of disappointment ruffled Iwai’s feathers, and he felt the need to bar the door. But he remained still, and nodded, though a soft sigh managed to escape. “If ya must.”

Mishima flailed for a moment, as though he’d forgotten what hands were for, then shoved them back in his pockets and headed out the door.

The bell overhead hadn’t even finished its first chime before that head of pretty dark blue hair poked back in.

“Can you...Could you teach me? More about them?”

He was going to have to start charging for lessons at this rate. Still, something warm settled in Iwai’s chest, and he found himself nodding his head. “After your classes?”

And Mishima unloaded on the unsuspecting alpha-- unleashing the second brightest smile he’d ever seen. It made every instinct in his rise up all at once and lurch forward, but before he could even blink, Mishima had disappeared through the door again.

The gunsmith stood, looking a bit dazedly at the door, before shaking his head and giving a low curse. Fuck, but a smile looked so  _ right _ on the kid’s face.

“Fuckin’ kids...gonna be the death of me yet.”

*~*~*

 

At least Mishima managed to make it into the shop without pausing this time, his nervous excitement buoyinghim along smoothly. When he stepped in, he was met with a larger man hurrying out, brushing past Mishima with his arms securely hugging something to his ample chest.

And giggling.

Mishima stood in the doorway for a moment, head tilting to the side as he watched the man disappear down the alley. He blinked slowly, his brain trying to piece together a puzzle he, himself, wanted no part of.

“He’s been waiting for that kit for months.” Iwai was standing behind the counter, typing something into his laptop before closing it with the snap of some kind of lock. “A homegrown Kalash with a bit of custom work here.”

The teen took a moment to settle into the fact that Iwai was speaking a whole other language before asking, “so, you already built it for him?”

“Only to make the tweaks he requested. A little sawing, sanding, retooling, and paint. Then I broke it back down, all ready for him to put together.” Iwai chuckled. He was glad to see that the kid was already more comfortable. Sure, there was a counter between them, but at least he was talking in full sentences, even if it was out of confusion. “Nothing to think too hard on just yet. We’re starting small. Guns, if you want to learn them at all, are a whole different animal.”

Mishima felt the nervous excitement return, and stepped closer to the counter. “What  _ are _ we starting with then?”

The older man smirked. “Let’s start with the basics. You ever cooked before?”

Bright eyes blinked in surprise, and his mouth stepped out well before his brain could catch it. “Of course I have!”

Using a microwave to reheat meals counted.

It  _ did _ . 

He knew what was expected of him. Omegas were supposed to be  _ domestic _ . Cooking, cleaning, babies on their hips...the whole picture. It wasn’t that he was opposed to any of that, he just...well. He was himself, and that meant that he was entirely capable of lighting toast on fire if left to his own devices for extended periods of time. His parents were planning on sending him to one of those omega home ec cram schools as soon as he got a little older, to try and make him more marketable.

“I cook all the time,” Mishima swallowed thickly around the blatant half truth that scalded on its way out. He glanced up into Iwai’s eyes for a moment then cut his eyes to the counter. 

Iwai cocked an eyebrow, tasting the anxiety pouring from the kid like a fountain, watching the way he refused to meet his gaze. Far be it for him to rake him over the coals for this. “Alright, alright. So, you know the basic differences in blade types. How each has its own use.”

Mishima slowly nodded, and lifted his head, listening as Iwai began expanding on that. He found himself entranced, not just with the honeyed voice rumbling, or the way the gunsmith’s body moved as he spoke, but with the words themselves. It sparked something in him. He’d always been studious, his parents never had to push him in that direction. He  _ liked _ learning, liked information and words. He had a knack, even though he never counted it as anything useful outside of testing well. And his anxiety tended to even that out anyway. 

Iwai, meanwhile, was fascinated by the laser focus directed at him as soon as he began talking. It wasn’t staring, but it was the most eye contact he’d gotten from the kid, as he checked in to make sure he was following. He’d expected the kid to get tired of the lecture, fidget, or ask incessant questions--it wasn’t the glamor of actual knife handling that seemed to attract the kid so much, after all. And Mishima did ask questions, but they were pertinent, and it was clear that it was mostly clarification rather than errant thought redirecting.

Before either knew it, hours had passed, and it was dark outside. Iwai’s watch beeped and he paused, licking lips he found dry, his mouth just as bad. He cleared his throat, and whatever spell was woven released him from its grip, but Mishima was still firmly entrenched, eyes roving the display box Iwai had pulled out one again. 

“Hey, kid. S’gettin’ late, you should probably head home, yeah?” The last thing he wanted was to get him in trouble, or have parents come hunting for his head thinking he’d abducted their son.

Mishima’s head slowly lifted, and he met the alpha’s eyes. The hesitation and disappointment that shone through hurt.

“Oh. I-yeah. Yeah I should…” He frowned and looked around before pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. “Ah.” 

Because of course neither parent had come looking for him--he was supposed to be in volleyball practice. Not that he’d gone back, he couldn’t, not since…

He couldn’t.

At first it had been self preservation that kept him from heading home when he’d bailed out on the team. His parents would murder him, and once the truth had come out things only became more dire. It had come out that  _ He _ ’d forced himself on students- on  _ omegas _ . If his parents found out that he was used goods, too...

He did his best to paste on a smile as he shouldered his bag and stood, clenching his fist around the strap to hide the slight shaking. “Thank you, for this.”

Iwai’s eyes shifted over the teen, having caught the far off look in Mishima’s eyes and the way his hand shook. “Not gettin’ into any trouble lettin’ me keep ya, right?”

The teen’s flushed a bit but he shook his head. “It’s fine. I didn’t--” He bit his lower lip and peered up at Iwai from under his hair, hiding, but more out of insecurity than worry. “So, tomorrow?”

Shifting his head a bit to the side, trying to puzzle the kid out, Iwai nodded. “Y’know where ta find me.”

*~*~*

 

Mishima jerked out of sleep, sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead, panting like he’d been running a marathon, hands white-knuckle tight twisted in his sheets. He felt a heady, dizzying sense of disassociation, unsure where he was. He sat there, staring at is hands, trying to collect the pieces of himself that seemed to be floating outside of his body.

Slowly he pulled the blankets away and turned, sliding his feet to the floor like it was covered in acid, hesitating before forcing them down completely. He shook his head, licked his lips, and pushed the mop of hair from his eyes. A growl of agitation rumbled up from deep inside of him as he stood and walked to the window, forcing it open to let the cool air breeze in. Slightly unfocused eyes searched the outside world for something, though the mind behind them had no idea what.

He glanced back at the room, its dark corners sharper, lurking. He could feel the eyes and hands reaching out to him from his nightmare, and without really thinking he eased himself out of his window and closed it behind him, shutting the monsters inside. For a moment he saw  _ Him _ , leering behind the glass, trapped until Mishima returned. The teen nodded a bit to himself, then turned and started walking. 

_ Just a loop around the block _ he told himself.  _ Then back to bed. _

*~*~*   
  


“Dude, you look dead!”

Mishima blinked slowly, lifting his head, startled, when the lack of following response told his brain he was being talked to. “Huh?”

“Maaan you’re outta it.” Ryuji’s face was instantly close, and the blonde reached out towards him.    


The ice pick stab of panic made his guts twist, but before the blonde’s fingers could touch, an arm stretched between them, batting the punkish teen’s hands away. Slightly widened eyes turned to watch as Akira took his hand back, without even looking up from his phone.

“Ryuji! You don’t just go grabbing someone’s face!” Ann chided.

“But-but look at him, he’s got like total gamer’s shadow goin’!” The teen crossed his arms over his chest with a soft humph. “I just wanna know what he’s playing.”

Morgana gave a short meow, popping his head out of the bag at Akira’s side. Mishima smiled and petted the soft head fur, oblivious to the snarky words of the feline thief. “Why do you wanna touch a guy’s face for, huh Ryuji?”

The sputter and blush that went all the way up to the blonde’s ears was well worth the confusion on Mishima’s part. The quiet teen peeked over at Akira, hoping the joke wasn’t at his expense, but the smile that the leader met him with tamed that worry in an instant.

The bell for class rang and they all started gathering up their things. Ryuji and Ann went down first, but when Mishima went to open the door, a hand pressed it closed again.

He could feel Akira against his back, warm, solid, real.

“Yuuki.”

Mishima took a deep breath, afraid of what he would see when he turned. But the other teen didn’t sound angry. So, he shifted around to face him. “Yes?”

Akira’s other hand, the one not propping him up against the door, brushed over his cheek, cupping his face. When Mishima melted into the touch, Akira smiled softly. “You alright?”

Bright eyes fluttered, as Mishima caught himself leaning into the other’s touch so easily. “I’m fine.” He licked his lips, his mind rushing all at once. “He just surprised me. I’m still not…”

“It takes time,” Akira murmured, soothing the anxiety creeping into Mishima’s voice. “And sudden touch is still...well...touchy.”

They both chuckled a little at the wordplay. Mishima nodded, aware but not upset that Akira was still holding his face.

“But not mine,” Akira pointed out slowly.

Letting out a small laugh, Mishima shakes his head. “Of course not yours. We’re--”

“What, exactly?”

Mishima stood there, ice crackling through his insides, his eyes slowly lowering to the floor as he clenched his fists tight around the hem of his shirt. He bit his lower lip, hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood. “What do you mean?” He whispered.

Akira lowered his head, right into Mishima’s space, and kissed him. Nothing hard, nothing raunchy, but the surprise still made the smaller boy gasp and relinquish the bite he’d had on his lips. Akira’s tongue slid out to gently soothe the damage, but didn’t press further, and Mishima melted back against the door. Where ice had floated through his veins a moment before, now molten lava bubbled up and sluggishly dripped. He slid his hands up from where they’d been trying to destroy his shirt and looped his arms around the other’s neck, loose, shy, waiting for the rejection and being thrown off.

When they slid apart, Mishima blinked up dazedly at Akira, and let his head rest back against the door behind them. He felt like his head was swimming. “I don’t understand.”

Akira licked his lips, eyes focused intently on the boy in front of him. “I  _ like _ you, Yuuki.”

The blue haired teen’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, the sharp hissing intake of breath echoing between them. His mouth moved, his hands lifting to protest, but nothing came out for several seconds, before finally a small squeak escaped.  “I don’t-I-can’t-” 

Mishima had started shaking again, his eyes shimmering with tears threatening to spill over. He was so tired, and none of this was making any kind of sense to him. Akira was  _ clearly _ mistaken. No one could like him, Mishima was a disaster and a half waiting to self destruct.

And yet he could see flashes of skin, and the look of those grey eyes as the other had filled him. And held him. The smile as he chatted, the stern no-nonsense look as he handed Mishima the protein bars and made sure he ate them. The look of unparalleled understanding as he broke down. It had meant something to him, but when he’d left the nest behind he’d thought that that would be the end of it. A dalliance, a friendly helping hand, but nothing more, nothing...real. Akira had Iwai after all, a strong, level-headed alpha to support the near-alpha-himself omega. 

_ Right _ , and his curiosity about Iwai was  _ strictly for the knife information _ .

But he remembered the hands he’d been offered, at the end of that first day. The promise of safety, and something more, if only he took it.

Akira eased back, looking Mishima over, then glanced at his phone as it chimed its text tone. Probably Ann asking where they were-- class had definitely started already, and they were still up here. 

Mishima bit his lower lip, feeling like he was shaking apart from the inside out. “I like you, too.”

Akira’s smile, soft, gentle, and warm, was well worth it.


	2. Circling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Can I just say you're all amazing and wonderful and soooo so supportive! All of your comments and kudos and bookmarks got me through some hella thick writer's block and I can't thank you all enough for it! I'm gonna post this chapter then go and start replying to the comments right now°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

“Where did you get that scar?”

Iwai blinked, looking up from where he’d been surfing through an online parts catalogue. It had been a week of the little omega coming in straight from school, eager for more information. He was, if the older man was being honest with himself, a breath of fresh air in the shop; cute, friendly, and eager. The kid’s nerves still got the better of him more often than not, though.

“...Which one?” Iwai raised an eyebrow as he shut the laptop with a click and stood, stretching his back in the process.

He watched Mishima’s eyes widen as he took a step back, managing to bite back the full body flinch that visibly wanted to tweek him. When the alpha slumped into his usual, casual posture, the teen relaxed too, everything unwinding as fight or flight got pushed back into its box. Mishima found himself watching Iwai’s face for a moment, the handsome rogue-ish stubble, the sedate but somehow still vigilant eyes, the piercings…

And that thought brought about the image Mishima certainly  _ hadn’t _ been remembering late at night under the covers...of the... _ other _ piercings…

Iwai couldn’t help but smirk at the way the kid’s face burst into bright blushing flames as he stared. Anyone else giving the ex-yakuza a look similar would’ve lost some teeth, but Yuuki was harmless and the attention flattering in a hindbrain sort of way. Akira never blushed for him, Akira wasn’t the blushing type. Now, his omega could give a look that took him from zero to harder than diamonds in a millisecond. Or fix him with the saddest, most tired eyes that spoke years worth of agony in a single blink. Akira was ever changing, it was part of the fun, but everything that Akira wasn’t was…

Well, it was Mishima.

The two stood like that for a long moment, both caught up in their own thoughts. Iwai startled out of his first, and popped his neck with a sharp shake of his head.

“So. Which scar?”

The teen blinked owlishly up at Iwai for a moment before remembering himself. “Oh! Oh, uhm, this one?”

He reached out a gentle hand and brushed his fingers over the line of puckered skin across Iwai’s knuckles, eyes focusing in for a second before returning up to the man’s face.

Which was good because it meant that Mishima missed seeing Iwai’s pupils expand as the touch, the simple innocent touch, sent a wave of electricity from his fingers straight to his spine in an instant.

The gunsmith rolled his shoulders and lifted his hand, turning it over to look at the mark himself, like he did at least once a day. He flicked the candy in his mouth around and gave a soft ‘hmph’. Mishima tilted his head, but, to Iwai’s surprise, didn’t backtrack, or apologize for hurting his feelings or something like that. That brought a smile back to the older man’s face. There were a lot of marks to be found, but even if Mishima hadn’t touched him-- and roused his inner alpha-- he’d have a pretty good idea which one it was.

He reached his hand into his back pocket, flicking his eyes over the empty store before bringing it back closed tight around something long and slender.

Mishima leaned in, curiosity peaked, then gasped when Iwai opened his hand to reveal the item. “That’s a real one!”

Iwai smirked, proud that the kid could already tell the difference right off the bat. He flicked his wrist and the handle split to reveal the actual blade that lay in the middle. “This is a Butterfly knife. Also known as a Balisong, it originated in the Philippines.”

The teen blinked in awe for a moment before his brow wrinkled and his mouth tightened a bit. “That’s illegal, isn’t it?”

“What makes ya say that?” Iwai quizzed.

Mishima looked down at the knife in the older man’s hands, eyes sharpening as he looked it over carefully. “The blade’s too long.” He almost reached out to touch it, but stopped himself before he could and quickly shoved his hand into his pocket.

“Half credit.” Iwai rumbled. “What else?”

The teen leaned back, looking it over again from a distance-- and  _ not  _ spacing himself from the things his “teacher’s” bassy growl did to his overactive imagination. He tilted his head this way and that, and watched as Iwai turned the knife over in his hand so Mishima could see all its sides.

“It’s not about the knife, kid, it’s about the person holdin’ it.”

Mishima’s eyes lit up instantly. “It’s a concealed weapon! Governments don’t like that kind of thing at all.”

Iwai beamed, proud of his student, and reached out to ruffle his hair to show him so. It was only when the little omega leaned  _ into _ the touch that Iwai realized he’d forgotten who he was congratulating. He knew better than to do something sudden like that to Mishima, the boy was skittish like a doe on ice, but amazingly...amazingly Mishima was fine with it. So, naturally, he kept doing it, enjoying the soft fluff of the kid’s hair and the bright smile that lit up his face.

“Very good, kid.” Iwai pulled his hand back and pretended not to notice how Mishima’s body followed after the touch a moment too long. “So, this particular type of knife’s really popular with the young yakuza...the newbies, basically. Anyone with half a mind learns quick to trade it in for a Switch or Stiletto. Easier to use, easier to maintain, anyone can push a button.”

“I’ve seen one of the punks at school playing with something like that before,” Mishima admitted, nodding toward the knife in Iwai’s hand. “It looked awkward.”

“That’s the rub. It’s a fine weapon but only if ya know how to handle it right. And most don’t.” Iwai shrugged. “Like I didn’t, once upon a time.”

Mishima’s eyes widened, and shifted down to the scar on Iwai’s hand.

“Got it in one, kid.” Iwai sighed. “Just like everyone else, I thought I was the hottest shit in the whole world. Me and my bro, we were gonna set the world on fire, and look damn cool doin’ it too.” He gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. “Couple’a fuckin’ know-nothin’s fresh off the boat, lemme tell ya.”

The older man looked into the enraptured face of his protege and continued with a shrug. “So there we were, threatenin’ someone for money...and I pull it. Didn’ even  _ need _ to, the guy was soft, but I  _ wanted _ to. Golden Rule Number Two, kid?”

“Never pull a weapon you don’t need to use,” Mishima replied instantly, before hesitantly adding, “Rule one says…”

“Yep, broke that one too. ‘Never pull a weapon ya don’t know how to use.’ Good catch, extra credit.” Iwai chuckled with a bit more warmth. “Anyways, I pull it, and I go to open it like a real badass, right? Yeah well...didn’t really go down that way.”

The man lifted the knife and carefully closed it with both hands. He lifted a single finger to draw Mishima’s attention and patience, while his other hand repocketed the knife. He set both hands on the counter, then at a relatively quick pace-- quick for most, but Mishima knew Iwai was slowing himself to illustrate-- he pulled the blade and flicked his wrist in a single smooth motion.

His fingers eased up on one of the handles, and the two split apart. The heavy handle flipped back and Iwai spun it by the handle in his grip, but the momentum was quicker and brought the handle down straight across Iwai’s knuckles.

Mishima frowned, and Iwai laughed.

“Right? Embarrassin’, but not life alterin’...” Iwai looked down at the blade and corrected his grip so that he was holding both handles, the blade pointed away from Mishima. “Wasn’t such a big deal til I tried to emphasize a point by flippin’ it shut.”

Again Iwai’s wrist twitched, and the blade turned but as the weight brought the handle down to close…

Mishima gasped.

Iwai’s fingers slid out of the way just in time for the handle to push the knife into the other handle, where his fingers had just been resting, with a small click. Iwai’s grip returned to cover it.

The fluffy omega’s eyes rested on the scar once again.

“Nobody looks like a badass when they damn near cut their own fingers off.”

 

*~*~*

 

Akira watched Yuuki from where he sat at his desk. The other teen’s head kept dipping, lower and lower. Akira could tell he was falling asleep, which wouldn’t have been such a problem if Mishima didn’t sit so close to the front. Luckily it was study time, and luckily their teacher was flipping through a textbook of her own.

**_You okay?_ **

Because by now Ms. Kawakami was used to him to staring down into his lap, either talking to Morgana or texting someone somewhere. Not that most of the other students didn’t either, they just got called out on it a lot more often. One of the perks of their agreement.

Yuuki’s head shot up, and his spine stiffened, before he guiltily looked down. Akira’s phone was quickly buzzing in response.

**_I’m okay. Tired. Not feeling too good._ **

Akira wanted to huff at the dichotomy.  **_Ask to go to the nurse’s office to lie down._ **

The reply was instantaneous, and the thief could  _ feel _ the anxiety leaking out of it.  **_I’m fine. No reason to bother._ **

He could feel his hackles bunching just a bit, but knew when to play it cool.

And when to cheat.

He quickly swiped over to a different conversation.  **_Mishima-kun’s not feeling well but won’t admit it_ ** .

Akira watched Ms. Kawakami blink down at her book, before casually glancing sideways towards a stack of papers waiting to be graded. She quirked an eyebrow, looked up to make eye contact, then looked over at Mishima, looking to any casual observer impassive as a teacher should be.

Akira knew them both better than that, and if he were a better person maybe he would have felt bad about using what he knew about the two of them to get what he needed.

But he wasn’t.

So he didn’t.

Their teacher stood up and stepped over to Mishima’s desk, leaning down to have a quiet conversation with the boy, who was trying, still, to keep awake by the looks of it. A few other students looked over, interested in the spectacle. Not that there was much. Mishima looked like someone had let all the air out of him as he nodded and started to pack his things into his bag.

Ms. Kawakami went back to her desk and started to slowly open and sift through her drawers.

Mishima got up and went for the door, glancing back Akira’s way with a confused expression, before leaving.

And Akira started to put his things away as well.

“We going with him?” Morgana asked softly.

The phantom thief nodded, and the cat slid right into his spot in the bag.

A few minutes later, Ms Kawakami gave up her search with a frustrated huff. “Kurusu, go to the teacher’s lounge and find the homework sheets, I must have left them in the copier.”

The dark-haired teen nodded and stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and headed out of the room as well. 

“She’s a crafty woman. No one in there  _ wants _ you to come back.”

Akira chuckled a bit. “We’ll definitely be making a service call tonight to thank her.”

He headed straight for the nurse’s office, knowing he’d find Yuuki there even if it was begrudging. Ann would have ditched and gone home, Ryuji would have argued longer, and then gone off to anywhere that  _ didn’t _ have a bed just to prove a point, but Yuuki was too well behaved for any of that.

As he stepped in he noticed the lights in the office were dimmed, and the school nurse was nowhere to be found. He closed the door quietly behind himself and looked to the one bed with the curtain drawn.

“You’re such a jerk,” Yuuki huffed, as soon as Akira had pulled the curtain back. He watched the darker haired teen pull up a chair then close the space off again around them. “I know that was you.”

“You’re tired,” Akira pointed out, not even bothering to deny his involvement. 

The younger omega lifted his head from the pillow and Akira could see just how true that was. He was paler than normal, and dark smudges were beginning to form under his eyes.

“I’m fine.” 

“I’m worried.” Akira looked him in the eyes, serious. “I  _ care _ . Remember?”

While he looked like he wanted to argue, Akira could also see the energy to fight wasn’t present. Instead Yuuki slumped back and turned onto his side, curling up a bit under the thin sheet provided. “That’s still new and weird.”

The thief stood and brought his chair closer to the head of the bed, sitting once more. He reached out to run the back of his hand against the curve of Yuuki’s cheek, murmuring softly, “I know.”

“Probably not even going to be able to sleep here,” He grumbled, a small shiver running through him. “S’cold.”

Before Akira could even do anything a little blur of black passed in front of him and landed on the bed. Morgana rubbed up against Mishima’s face before plopping down into the teen’s arms. The cat looked up at Akira for a moment before lowering his head and lightly wiggling so he was closer once Mishima hugged him.

“Don’t you dare tell Ryuji.”

The thief only nodded before reaching into his bag and pulling out his hoodie, laying it over Yuuki like a blanket. It would probably do more good if he wore it, but he looked so comfortable with Morgana already that Akira couldn’t bring himself to disturb either of them. So he just leaned back in his chair and watched as Yuuki almost immediately dropped off to sleep.

Not realizing that, more than the warm purry body of the cat, it was the warm familiar scent woven into the hoodie covering him, that eased the exhausted omega into much needed slumber.

 

*~*~*

 

Mishima walked down the quiet streets of his neighborhood, naked feet tapping gently against the pavement. He looked around, not surprised that there was no one around so late at night. He knew the area’s routine by now, and the few denizens of the night that peeked out to do their own business knew him, the boy in his pajamas. There would be a nod, a silent commiseration, but no actual words were spoken. Half the time Mishima wasn’t truly cognizant enough to have held any conversation even if he wanted to.

He stopped in front of his house, looking up with unfocused eyes at the lightly pinking sky that told him daybreak was upon him. Slowly, carefully, he picked his way back up to his window. There he paused to peer in, the skin on the back of his neck rising as the same face that was always there in the dark sneered back at him. Its mouth moved to words that Mishima heard in his head.

_ Worthless. _

Words that were  _ always _ in his head.

_ Tainted Omega Whore. _

But the glass kept the volume tuned to low, harsh snarls and hisses.

_ No one will ever care about you. You are  _ nothing.

The first few rays of sun struck the window and the face was no more, shattering apart like a dropped mirror before fading away. Mishima opened the window, and the voices only grew louder. 

_ Everyone knows what you are. _

He slid back inside and went to his backpack.

_ Everyone knows what you’ve-- _

Silence filled the room, and his head, as he pulled Akira’s hoodie around himself. He stood, basking in it. The scent that he knew, now, to be a blend of Iwai’s and Akira’s infinitely more subtle one. The warmth of the fabric around him, like Akira himself held him. And the blessed relief of silence.

Akira didn’t  _ need _ this hoodie, surely. Surely he had others?

Mishima went to his bed and curled up, glancing at his clock before shutting his eyes. An hour, he could make it through another day with an hour’s worth of sleep.

He’d been doing more with less for far longer.

Before he completely slipped under, a new voice whispered through his mind.

_ I care. _

 

*~*~*

  
  


Akira leaned back against the glass counter, arms crossed as he watched Iwai disassemble a model he’d modified for a client. The older man’s hands moved with fluid ease, and Akira was pretty sure he could have blindfolded him, and Iwai wouldn’t have even missed a beat.

“He ain’t sleepin’,” Iwai muttered.

“No,” Akira agreed with a sigh. “If I had to guess…”

“Kid’s seen some shit.” Iwai clicked the last piece apart and set it in the box. “S’bound to leave a mark somewhere in his head.”

The teen grumbled, glaring down at his shoes. It irked him that Mishima was struggling, more so that he couldn’t just fix it for him.

“He has to do it his own way, in his own time.”  The gunsmith stood and gently brushed his fingers through Akira’s wild locks. “You can’t do it for him, and neither can I. Trust me, you think I wanna see Kaoru struggling with gym class? Boy’s just not built for it, I’d go in for him in a heartbeat but…”

The teen sighed, nodding his head loosely. “But Kaoru has you. Yuuki doesn’t have anyone. He  _ needs _ someone.” He tilted his head, pointedly catching Iwai’s eyes and raising a brow. “Someone _ s _ .”

The gunsmith gave a derisive snort. “We can’t go kidnapping him to add to our…”

The two looked at each other as the older man’s words tapered off. Still,  _ still,  _ there was that elephant in the room between them. 

_ What were they,  _ **_really_ ** _? _

Both did their best to ignore the baser instinctual nomenclature in their day to day. Mates, if only that meant anything to either of them. It was dimestore romance novel language. Iwai counted himself too old, and Akira was more than jaded enough to eschew the very notion. 

And yet.

The two looked away at the same time, as they had a hundred times before. But just as Iwai was chewing on how to continue his thought he felt thin fingers brush over his hand. He glanced down and saw those delicate digits entwine with his own, lacing together neatly. He raised an eyebrow and was met with a warm ray of sunshine in the form of Akira’s attention resting solely on him. In that moment, in that touch and those eyes, both happily shared the silent word, undiscovered yet, that fit them and what they were.

_ Better _ .

_ You make me  _ better  _ than I could ever be alone. _

Iwai leaned down as Akira eased up and their lips met in the middle, saying everything they couldn’t. The teen’s eyes slid closed as he pressed against his lover’s solid form, letting himself release just a bit of the tension that kept him standing, running, leading. Iwai immediately wrapped his arms around Akira’s slim waist, supporting the both of them, like he always would. It was something that was dangerously addictive, and it made for a heady high if either thought about it too much. 

Akira sighed, burying his face against Iwai’s throat, lightly kissing the peeking gecko as he stared forlornly at nothing. “Is there really nothing more we can do?”

“Sometimes all y’can do is be there to catch the pieces when they fall,” the older man murmured, one of his hands running over the teen’s back in soothing strokes. “We’ll be here for him when he needs puttin’ back together.”

Akira closed his eyes, his grip on Iwai’s jacket tightening. “How many times can a person shatter before the pieces are too small?”

“It’s different for everyone.” Iwai kissed the top of the teen’s fluffy head. “There’s always a little missin’, that needs fillin’ in, in the end. You donate bits of yourself to help shore up the sides til better materials come along.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before,” Akira chuckled softly.

“Oh, maybe once or twice.” The gunsmith smirked down fondly at the armful of wonder he held. But he could feel the pensive expression take hold as it always did when they had such talks. “Y’know, one day your better materials’ll come too. Y’can’t lose that order form forever.”

The teen gave a snort and eased back to meet Iwai’s gaze. “What could possibly be better?”

Iwai knew better by now, he could see the landmine set before him and decidedly walked around it.

“I’ll send him home tomorrow with a few bags of the tea we keep in the nest. It might be enough to help him sleep.”

Akira frowned at the redirection, but nodded anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please feel free to leave any feedback below, I'd appreciate it immensely, I love seeing how you guys feel as we go on! Til next time guys! (◜௰◝)╯


	3. Lay It Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boys Are Back In Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Soooo sorry about the long time no see. All I can say is that I work retail so the holidays are...hectic. But I'm back in the saddle and writing again! Thank you so so much for all the love and support in the interim though, you guys really kept me going!

Mishima blinked owlishly up at the older man standing across from him.

“W...What?”

Iwai tilted his head a bit. “I was askin’ if ya wanted to come over for dinner next week?”

Mishima felt as though someone had handed him a million dollars and punched him in the gut all at once. A thrill went through him at the idea of getting to see more of Iwai, in a different environment, somewhere as personal as his own home even! But...but something like that...usually meant expectations in return.

The gunsmith waved his hand. “No strings, kid. Just dinner. You, me, and the Brat.”

The inclusion of Akira should have flooded him with guilt, and a very minor portion of himself did cry out, but more than anything else it filled him with anxious excitement. It was a chance for him to show himself in a far better light than the two had seen him in thus far.

“I’ll cook!”

He bit his lip, wishing he could grab the words that had flown from his mouth and smother them. He’d cook? He didn’t  _ cook _ !

“You sure?” Iwai raised an eyebrow in gentle skepticism.

“Yeah!” He had a week. He had a week and Youtube. Couldn’t be that complicated. Not if he researched. “Yeah, I...I’ll bring everything and cook, it’s the least I can do for you guys, you’ve done so much.”   


He watched the alpha carefully, but Iwai was good at giving nothing away without meaning to. It was frustrating more often than not, but the Iwai in Mishima’s head was far crueler and less believing. He did his best to ignore the sneer that he could just imagine Iwai was holding back. He licked his lips and prepared himself for a fight, to prove that he could prove himself even.

“Alright.”

And startled at the easy acceptance. He exhaled slowly.

“But I’ll foot the bill. Ah,” Iwai narrowed his eyes the moment Mishima thought about arguing. “As the only fully employed person at this dinner, I insist. Last thing I need’s you two cracking piggy banks just to feed me.”   
  
Mishima felt his cheeks heat slightly. “Okay.”

Iwai smirked and nodded his head. “Good. So just make sure you go clear it with your folks, okay?”

The teen looked away for a moment, eyes fiercely scanning the floor like it held the answers to life, the universe, and everything. The elation slipping off of him like water off a duck’s back.

“Hey…” Iwai started, but Mishima’s eyes snapped back to him.

He smiled. “Okay.”

Narrowing his eyes, Iwai looked Mishima over. But he felt, and saw, none of the awkward deception that usually highlighted the teen’s lies. So, if he wasn’t going to do it, it was going to be a case of lawyering. As the adult in the situation, Iwai probably should have objected to that thought, but a large enough part of himself that lived in the ink that hid away beneath layers of cloth, just smirked and nodded.

Mishima beamed back.

It would be fine.

It would be  _ fine. _

Mostly because his parents were going out of town next week, leaving the matter of  _ permission _ a moot point.

But it would be fine.

Mishima picked up his bag, getting ready to leave for the day and feeling pretty proud of himself, but Iwai waved him off.

“I got something here, just came in.” He chuckled and slipped into the back room for a moment, leaving Mishima to sit down on his, by now, usual stool.

The gunsmith stepped back through holding a small box wrapped in bright paper, tied off in a peculiarly-familiar blue colored-ribbon. Mishima stared in shock as the box was set down in front of him, and Iwai proceeded to come around the counter to lean against it from Mishima’s side. He could smell the faint scent of alpha so much clearer with him so close…

“Well?”

“I don’t…” Mishima stammered, biting his lower lip, eyes jumping between the obvious gift and Iwai’s face, neither a safe place for his anxious brain to alight for long. After an exhausting few seconds he settled on staring at the box, because at least  _ it _ wouldn’t notice how his face heated and pinked. “For me?”

Iwai shifted, and Mishima stole a glance from the corner of his eye, spying the adult... fidgeting? He glanced upwards just in time for Iwai to cough and turn his head, but the gunsmith wasn’t fast enough to hide a flash of red.

Was he... was Iwai…

_ Blushing _ ?

Mishima tried. He did, so hard, but he couldn’t suppress it.

He laughed.

First, a short sharp bark, and after a moment of hesitation, as though waiting for some kind of hand to reach down and grab his throat to silence him, more followed, bubbling up out of him without end.

Iwai forgot all about being embarrassed that he was embarrassed and watched Mishima in slight awe. The kid had a sweet, if rusty from disuse, laugh. And the smile that accompanied it...there were few things that genuinely warmed the bitter alpha’s heart like that did. So much so that he couldn’t help but join in with his own husky chuckles. 

Slowly the laughter tapered off between them, but the good mood, the easy closeness, remained. Mishima wiped some stray tears from his eyes, a common enough action for such an uncommon event, and faced Iwai.

“Thank you.” He smiled. “I don’t mean to laugh...but you just...looked so…”

“Human?” Iwai raised an eyebrow.

Mishima ducked his head, but nodded anyway. “Sometimes I forget that. That everyone, older, younger, everyone is just... human. Like me.”

Iwai nodded in tired understanding. “It ain’t easy being young. Anyone older tryin’ to tell ya how to be, what to do, or not do... I stopped seeing faces for a while around your age. Everyone kept sayin’ the same shit... made me kinda just ignore it all. And then it was all just blank faces... and adults were always glarin’ down, disapprovin’... S’easy to dehumanize ‘em.”

The teen blinked, then chuckled softly. “I...kind’ve thought I was the only one who saw it that way.”

“Nah,” Iwai waved his hand. “S’typical. Don’t sweat it. As long as you can still see the faces that matter.”

Mishima looked up at Iwai as he said, “I can.”

Iwai coughed into his hand and motioned to the box left unopened, trying to deflect the boldness of Mishima’s words. The teen decided to allow it, and he plucked at the ribbon to untie it. He took the lid from the box and peered inside, then scooped up the contents.

It was a little leather pouch with a snap on the front. But it was heavy. Mishima popped the fastener and pulled out a set of cool metal handles, a sharp gasp leaving him.

“What — ?”

“Open it.” Iwai soothed.

Mishima glanced at Iwai, suspicion and thrill warring for his heart, but he did as instructed, separating the two handles to reveal, in place of a deadly blade, a rounded length of metal. His eyes widened in delight as he moved it this way and that, watching the pieces swing freely, fluidly, beautifully, like the real thing he knew Iwai kept always in his back pocket.

“It’s a trainin’ blade. Legal as anythin’, and a hell of a lot safer way to learn than I did.” He chuckled, running his thumb over the scar absentmindedly. “I thought, I dunno, maybe--”

“I love it!” Mishima chirped, launching himself off of his stool and towards Iwai. He wrapped his arms tightly around the taller man and hugged, hiding the beginnings of tears in the thick fabric of his sweater.

Iwai stood still, staring down at the sweet-hearted boy before him. He slowly brought his arms out and embraced the teen back, giving him room to break free but making sure he was present and the warmth reciprocated. Complicated hugs had become a speciality of his since meeting Akira after all. When Mishima just burrowed closer, Iwai took the leap and tightened the hug a bit more, moving one hand up to softly stroke through smooth blue hair. His eyes fell on the box, forgotten in the joy, and caught on the ribbon that, after cajoling from Akira to wrap the gift all fancy, he’d picked out himself.

The ribbon the exact same shade as the fluffy head he was now gently petting.

*~*~*

 

The next day, a significantly more upbeat Mishima chatted through lunch with the others. Akira watched, smiling to himself. It was hard to miss the way Mishima kept reaching into his pocket, as if reassuring himself that something was still there.

Akira had had his doubts over the gift, but Iwai was damn good at reading people. Terrible at wrapping gifts, not from lack of effort but from an over-meticulous nature, but good at reading people. 

The others started to get up, stuffing their things back into their bags for the return trek to class, Ryuji still cramming a half-eaten sandwich in his mouth that had been too busy talking to be used elsewise. Mishima stood and Akira slowly rose with him, raising a hand.

“You guys go on ahead, okay?”

Mishima froze, knowing instinctively that he was not one of “you guys.” Ryuji tried to argue around his food, and finally managed to swallow.

“Hey, how come you get to skip class? It’s not like I wanna go back either!”

Ann, a knowing smile claiming for territory over her face, simply plucked him up by the ear and began walking back. “Don’t be gone too long, ‘kay?”

Makoto looked like she wanted to object, but, after looking between him and Mishima, she shot eyes at Ann and let out a soft “ohhhh.” She gave a small smile, happy but still wary of rule breaking, and nodded her blessing as she left. After shoving a still flailing blonde through the rooftop door, Ann leaned back and winked at them before disappearing herself, cackling like a super villain.

Akira stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Mishima, and smiled at him. “Hey there.”

“H-hi,” Mishima whispered, blushing already at the close proximity, but not objecting.

“So, do you like it? He was hoping it would get here quickly.”

The blue haired teen fished the training blade from his pocket and showed Akira, though he kept it held securely, unwilling to just... part with it.

“Did he show you any of his cool tricks?” Akira grinned.

“Y-yeah... but he sorta wanted me to go slow? So he just showed me how to open it.” Mishima awkwardly flicked his wrist, and the ‘blade’ came free, the handles clicking together in his grip. Nowhere near the liquid smooth movement that Iwai had shown him, but he was excited to practice.

Akira gave a low whistle. “He was right about the hinges.” He laughed. “I should’ve expected that, huh?”

When all he got from Mishima was a quizzical look, Akira had to bite off a laugh. Because of course,  _ of course _ , Mune would downplay something like  _ that _ .

He felt Mishima stiffen a little and shook his head. “Alright, hang on. Not laughing at you. Let me explain.” He took a breath and smiled at the other omega. “See, yes, Mune was anxious to get it in, but he’s actually had it for about a week--”

“But!” Mishima interjected, brain racing. “But that’s-he’s only been teaching me for a couple weeks?!”

Akira shrugged. “He said you’d shown interest in that knife specifically?”

Mishima’s face flamed. That had been...if Iwai’d had the knife for a week, and given the average shipping time...had he ordered it the same day as their conversation about his scar? Had he  _ really _ ?

It made something warm flutter in his chest.

“So when they make these things, or any knives actually, they’re really really stiff. Like, annoying to move stiff.” Akira nodded toward the metal still gripped affectionately in Mishima’s hand. “He spent the whole week working it, oiling it, and flipping it, until it moved right.”

“He... did all that?”  _ For me _ ? Went unspoken, but the both of them knew it was there.

“He did.”

Mishima hugged the trainer to his chest, gazing at his shoes for a long moment, before speaking softly. “Akira, I think I... uhm.”

But he couldn’t say it. It was awful.  _ Awful _ . 

_ Never satisfied, are you? _

He flinched at the scornful echo of his own voice in his head, and was ready to bolt, when Akira pulled him closer.

“Yeah, I do, too.”

“Wh-what?”

Bright gray eyes found Mishima’s own and crinkled with a warm, gentle smile. “You like him, yeah?”

Mishima pulled away, and Akira let him, knowing that he’d stepped just a bit too far. Mishima grabbed his bag and shook his head a bit. Akira tried to rebuild. 

“Yuuki, listen, I’m sorry--”

Akira froze in place when the other omega moved forward and planted a kiss right on his lips.

It wasn’t earth shattering, or world rending.

It wasn’t steamy, or passionately frenzied.

It wasn’t anything more than a meeting of lips for an instant.

_ But _ …

It was of Yuuki’s own volition.

The sound of the rooftop door shutting snapped Akira out of his haze, and he looked around a moment before gently touching his fingers to his lips and grinning. 

*~*~*

 

It was cold. Even in his usual daze Mishima was somewhat aware of the temperature. Luckily he’d hidden a pair of shoes outside his home for his walks now, sparing his feet the chilled pavement. And he had Akira’s hoodie to burrow into while he went. The scent was just as warming as the actual garment, and that made him chuckle a little. Something he realized he’d been doing a lot more lately.

Odd.

He also found himself deviating off of his usual route. It was still late, or early? But his feet took him along a less tread road towards the bright lights of a 24-hour convenience store. He squinted in the face of bright fluorescent lighting and the heavy scent of floor cleaner, but began to wander the aisles. Clearly looking for something, even though he had no clue what.

He probably looked suspicious as heck. He’d heard these places got robbed at night all the time.

At least he was wearing shoes.

He stopped, and for a moment just stood there, before his mind surfaced and he realized what his subconscious had dragged him in for. He was standing in front of the big machine that poured a variety of hot drinks. Coffees, espressos, and, his eyes zeroed in, hot chocolate.

Mishima scoffed softly.

Of course, he was cold. Hot cocoa had been his go-to when he was younger, something his mother had taught him to make early so that he could teach  _ his _ children someday.

Frustrated, he started to turn away. It wasn’t as though he had any money in his pajama pockets anyway.

“Mishima?”

The omega blinked and turned his head. An extra scruffy mess of dyed blonde hair bounced into view, Ryuji’s big grin almost as blinding as the lights above.

“Oh! H-hi, Sakamoto.” Mishima tried not to squirm, feeling naked and exposed in his ill behaviours and pajamas.

But, as he noticed, Ryuji was wearing his own hoodie, PJ bottoms, and...bunny slippers?

“Hey, man, c’mon, no formalities. Not ever. Bleh.” Ryuji shook his head. “And don’t judge, okay, my mom washed my kicks and they weren’t dry yet so I had to make do…”

Mishima smiled awkwardly. “They’re cute.”

“Haaaa??” The blonde looked away, presumably in outrage, but Ryuji, unfortunately, was the type to blush up to his ears, so Mishima knew better. “So-so, like, what brings you out this late, huh?"

Mishima shrank into his stolen hoodie a bit, and it occurred to him that Ryuji may well recognize it for Akira’s. Panic started its well-drilled march through his system at the thought of losing the jacket.

“Uhm... I was... I haven’t…”

“Trouble sleeping?”

The omega bit his lower lip and nodded guiltily.

But Ryuji didn’t seem to notice, or he actively dismissed it. “Dude, I hear that.”

“Oh... yes?”

The blonde nodded solemnly. “Some nights, man, I just gotta get outta the house. And I always end up somewhere where there’s food.”

Mishima laughed, and Ryuji blinked at him before joining in. 

“Yeah, not that surprising, huh? Well anyway... you were eyeing that hot chocolate pretty hard. Sounds good on a night like this.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t--”

“My treat! I got a little left over from our last big scor--errrr…” Ryuji froze, then sighed. “Mannnn…”

Mishima reached out and patted the blonde on the shoulder, consoling. “It’s okay! I already know, I’m your official webresentative remember?”

Ryuji seemed to perk back up at that, and he grinned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Oh yeah. Okay, cool, don’t tell the others? Makoto’s smart, so it was gonna happen no matter what but... I gotta watch my mouth, or Ann’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

As he spoke, the blonde busied himself with pouring two cups of the richly fragrant nonalcoholic nectar of the gods. He even snuck a few ice cubes in, sharing a conspiratorial wink with the other, before putting the lids on and heading up to the register.

Mishima found himself swept up along in the wake of Ryuji’s personality and bobbing along behind him. But he noticed it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. He tried to object once more when Ryuji pulled the money from his pocket, but the blonde was having none of it.

“Okay, okay, how about this, you can pay next time, huh?”

“Next time?”

“I mean,” the blonde paused. “You know, I do this kinda often? So like... we’re bound to run into each other again. So... here.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and held it out to Mishima. “I figure you don’t have your phone on you, right? So give me your number and I’ll text ya mine. And then next time you’re out late, we can meet up for snacks? Sneaking out is way better with company.”

The younger teen slowly looked from Ryuji to the phone, taking in the situation bite by bite, before smiling and typing his number into the other’s phone before handing it back.

Obviously he wouldn’t be bothering Ryuji  _ every _ time. But... why not? This was nice.

Ryuji beamed back at him and traded the phone in Mishima’s hand for the hot chocolate. He pocketed the device and sipped his own, letting out a contented sigh. “Perfect temp.”

Mishima hurried to drink, too, and found that Ryuji was right. He smiled and enjoyed the warmth of the drink seeping through him from inside and from his hands. A ringtone began to play, something orchestral, and the young alpha beside him swore before whipping the phone out and staring at the screen.

“Shit, busted,” he whispered. He took a deep breath and thumbed the answer icon, turning away a bit. “Hey, mom... Sorry I uh... Yeahhh... yeah. Yes, ma’am. Okay. Okay. Love... Love you, too. Bye.”

He hung up, then hung his head with a groan. 

“Uhm…”

“Dude. She was mad. Like, mad. But what’s worse, she noticed her slippers were gone.” He groaned dramatically. “She’s gonna have the camera out and waiting when I get back, I just know it…”

Mishima laughed, and Ryuji grinned amidst his misery.

“Ah well. Gotta get going, hey, which way is your house?”

“Oh!” Mishima walked with Ryuji towards the entrance and pointed in the direction he’d come from.

“Ah, that’s opposite from me. Make sure you text me when you get home safe, okay? There’s shitty people out at this hour.”

Mishima nodded. “I have to get going too. But. Uhm. Ryuji? Thank you. This was... this was nice.”

Ryuji laughed. “Any time.”

Mishima grinned and scampered off towards his home, warm cup still in hand.

The blonde waved after him until Mishima turned out of sight, then let his arm drop. His carefree grin slipped into a small scowl. “And how long were you plannin’ on standin’ there?”

A taller shadow at the corner of the building shifted a bit, and a rough voice responded. “Long enough to make sure.”

“Yeah. Well. I wasn’t gonna do anything to him or anything. He’s a good guy, just has some problems... like the rest of us.”

The man chuckled a little. “I know.”

“He looked like he needed a friend,” Ryuji growled. “I ain’t gonna see no one abuse him just cuzza what he is, that shit shouldn’t matter.”

“Yeah, kid, I know.” And the shadow started walking away into the night. “Cuz if all you had was alpha-brain goin’ on, I’da left you in that alley lookin’ for your teeth.”

Ryuji watched him go, and shook his head as he remembered that he was already in deep shit, best not to keep his mom waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are! Hopefully well worth the wait? Let me know what you think! I'm super excited to hear from ya'll!


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